


Let Me Show You

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Dirty Talk, F/F, Gay Panic, Ingrid is a sapphic disaster, Mercedes is the world's best domme, Post-Time Skip, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: Mercedes manages to coerce Ingrid into her room on their day off to play around with makeup. She may have had an ulterior motive.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 17
Kudos: 95
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Let Me Show You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the FE3H kinkmeme [prompt](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=1907528):
> 
> "Mercedes locked me in her room for hours earlier..."
> 
> Except instead of putting makeup on her, Mercedes gives "a little help" with repressed lesbian Ingrid coming to terms with the fact that she's gay.
> 
> Bonus points for:  
> \- an initially unwilling Ingrid that eventually begs Mercedes to have her way with her  
> \- Mommy domme Mercedes  
> \- Dirty talk!!
> 
> Couldn't believe this one wasn't filled yet! I hope you all enjoy! (Also this was supposed to be for the fill-a-thon last weekend, but time got away from me a little.)

“Mercedes, this is _ridiculous_ ,” Ingrid huffs, her arms crossed firmly over her chest, and her face locked in a scowl. “We’re not even _going_ anywhere, why are you being like this?”

  
  


Mercedes hums to herself as she digs through the little box of makeup on her desk, and Ingrid can hear the clicking and jostling of the contents. She’s surprised Mercedes has so much of it, honestly, but then, should she be? Her friend always looks so lovely, and while a lot of that is her natural beauty, Ingrid is certain that the makeup doesn’t hurt. 

  
  


Despite that, though, there’s something enchanting about being able to see Mercedes without it, and in such casual clothing. Something intimate.

  
  


She watches Mercie’s back as the older woman shuffles around, her long, plain skirt swishing about her legs and hips. In particular, Ingrid notices her hair. It’s so soft, so perfectly brushed and coiffed. She can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run her fingers through it, now that her customary veil is set aside for the evening. Or...how it smells? Ingrid frowns. That’s an odd thing to wonder.

  
  


Mercedes clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Ingrid, come now, I don’t think it’s ridiculous. I’m not doing this for an outing, I’m doing it for _you_.”

  
  


“But I don’t want-” Ingrid begins, but Mercedes turns around and holds up a finger, interrupting her before she can continue. In her other hand, Ingrid can see a few little tubes and cases.

  
  


“It’s not about what you want, it’s about how you feel about yourself,” Mercedes says, crossing the room and sitting down on her bed, next to Ingrid. Their sides are touching; Ingrid can feel the warmth of her even through both of their shirts. Mercedes puts a hand on Ingrid’s knee, letting the makeup supplies fall into a little pile on the comforter beside her. 

  
  


The touch is gentle, comforting, friendly, and it makes Ingrid’s mouth go dry and her eyes go wide. Butterflies erupt through her stomach and all through her body as Mercedes gently strokes from her knee, to mid-thigh, and back. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest, and she can hear blood rushing in her ears, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been this _close_ to someone. 

  
  


“You say you simply have no interest in makeup and clothing and other such things, but I can’t help wondering,” Mercedes continues, seemingly ignorant of the effect that her touch is having on Ingrid. “If it’s really that you don’t care, or that you don’t feel comfortable loving yourself so freely.”

  
  


“Loving myself?” Ingrid asks, stunned, as soon as she’s able to find her voice. “Mercie, that’s silly, of course I…” she trails off, finding it difficult to make the words come out. “I am just fine with myself,” she says, instead. Mercedes meets her eyes, searching for something, and Ingrid fidgets under the scrutiny. She breaks eye contact, looking just past her friend and to her bedroom window instead.

  
  


She’s forcibly redirected when Mercedes reaches up with her other hand and cups Ingrid’s cheek. The touch is tender and loving, and so _soft_ , and Mercie’s hand is so soft, too, and warm, and has Mercedes always smelled so _nice_? It’s a gentle floral aroma, usually too subtle to even detect, but it feels downright heady now. She allows her gaze to drift back to her friend’s face, and it nearly breaks her heart to see the wan smile on her lips.

  
  


“Oh, Ingrid,” Mercedes cooes, her voice barely above a whisper, “oh, I wish you could see yourself like I see you; it’s like I’m looking upon the goddess herself.” She leans just a little more toward Ingrid, inspecting her every feature, and they’re so close now that she can feel Mercie’s breath on her lips when she speaks. She feels like she’s going to explode, as Mercedes goes on. “I wish you would let yourself be happy. And I wish there was something I could do.”

  
  


Mercedes strokes across Ingrid’s cheekbone with her thumb, and Ingrid shivers. “Mercedes,” Ingrid whimpers, “Mercedes, what are you doing?” She feels like she should pull back, move away, flee the room, something, _anything_ , but she can’t. She’s rooted to the spot and completely at her friend’s mercy. “What are you talking about?”

  
  


As she speaks, something... _changes_ , in Mercedes’s eyes. It’s as though she’s suddenly resolved to do something very difficult, and there’s an intensity there that Ingrid isn’t used to seeing. And it’s a little intimidating. “Mercie?” she breathes, her heart pounding.

  
  


And then Mercedes closes the last little bit of distance between them, and kisses her.

  
  


It’s not the first time Ingrid’s been kissed; she’d been engaged, after all, but there’s something different about this one. Before, when she’d kissed Glenn, it hadn’t been terribly pleasant. It hadn’t been _awful_ , per se, but she hadn’t really cared for it one way or another. He’d been nice enough, and cordial, and had never pushed her. But this kiss, with Mercedes, with her _friend_ , her _female friend_ Mercedes, is entirely different. 

  
  


She feels as though she’s just been set on fire from her toes to the top of her head, and she grows just a little dizzy as the scent and sensation of Mercedes completely overpowers her. Ingrid is powerfully, _superbly_ aware of the way Mercie’s lips feel on hers, how soft they are, how delightful they feel. She feels the hand on her cheek press just a little tighter, the one on her thigh grip a little harder. A little whine escapes her before she can hold back, and she feels a certain, specific kind of warmth pooling low in her stomach.

  
  


_No. No, I can’t do this!_

  
  


Ingrid forces herself away from Mercedes, breaking their lips apart, though it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done. She scoots far away from her, down to the foot of the bed, her hands held up to make a barrier between them. Ingrid reels, panting, trying to catch her breath. “M-Mercedes, what are you doing!?” she demands, panic plain in her voice, looking at the other woman with wide, terrified eyes.

  
  


_But, it felt so good..._

  
  


Mercedes, for her part, seems mostly unfazed. She’s surprised, and she blinks a couple of times at the sight of Ingrid recoiling away as though she’s been burned, but she doesn’t react beyond that. No, Mercedes simply sighs.

  
  


“Ingrid, come now, don’t be silly!” she says, insistent. “I could feel you! I could feel how hot your face was, and how you squirmed under my hand, and I heard that little sound you made, and it was so cute!” Mercedes smiles that same gentle smile she always does, but it has an edge to it now, something wicked. “I’d like you to make more of them, for me,” she purrs, her eyes going from friendly to _smouldering_.

  
  


_How could it feel so good?_

  
  


She hesitates. They’re both women. They can’t...no, they _shouldn’t_ do things like this. Mercedes is her friend, not her fiance, much less her _lover_. It’s _improper_ , and it’s _wrong_ , and she would be _ruined_ if anyone found out. So why does Mercedes- good, pure, gentle Mercedes- look so relaxed?

_How could it be wrong, if it feels so nice?_

  
  


Ingrid can’t deny Mercedes’s words, she knows that much. She _had_ grown hot, she _had_ squirmed, and she _had_ whined into Mercie’s mouth. Was that what kissing was supposed to be like? Was it supposed to feel that _wild_? That _passionate?_ A certain warmth between her legs seemed to confirm her theory.

  
  


She looks up at Mercedes, ever patient, ever kind, sitting on the bed across from her. Ingrid lets herself look at Mercedes in a way she hadn’t before. She looks over her friend like she thinks a man might, and her eyes...linger, in different ways. In different places. She looks at Mercedes’s gorgeous hips, at her long, beautiful legs, at her thighs, at her neck, at her chest. Ingrid shivers.

  
  


Mercedes stands up, steps deliberately over to the door, and turns the lock. Ingrid hears the little ‘click’, and then her friend turns back to her, one hand on her hip. She’s facing Ingrid now, standing over her, and Ingrid feels her heartbeat pick up again. 

  
  


Mercie just locked the door. She’s standing between that door and Ingrid. She’s standing right there, looking down at her, raw lust unmistakable in her eyes. Mercedes reaches out with one hand, one finger, placing it under Ingrid’s chin and lifting it up, making Ingrid look at her.

  
  


“Ingrid, darling,” she purrs, throatily, adoration suffusing her words. “Ingrid, come now, don’t be silly.” Mercedes turns that finger up, trailing her nail back over Ingrid’s jaw and down her neck. Ingrid shudders again. “You can tell me what you want. You can be honest with me, and with yourself.”

  
  


That fingernail finds its way down to Ingrid’s collarbone, and traces the skin there, drawing a burning line across her flesh. Mercedes leans down, and in, her cheek brushing against Ingrid’s, her lips a mere hair’s breadth away from her ear. 

  
  


“You can tell me that you want me to fuck you.”

  
  


Ingrid can feel herself trembling, but she’s terrified, stuck like a doe before a cavalry charge. Does she want that? Does she want to get up, rip the door open, and tear off into the night? Part of her is reminding her that she dare not do this, but another, louder part of her is telling her she’ll never be able to live with herself if she doesn’t. 

  
  


“I...I…” Ingrid begins, but Mercedes cuts her off. 

  
  


“Let me help you decide,” she breathes. Mercedes draws away and places her hand flat on Ingrid’s collar, pushing her back down to lay on the bed. She doesn’t force her, but she doesn’t have to. Ingrid’s too stunned to resist at the moment, even if she wants to. Which, to be honest, she’s still not sure if she does.

  
  


Mercedes flicks her own skirt out and away, so that it doesn’t get bunched up, and climbs atop Ingrid with ease, straddling her hips and letting the fabric settle around them. She reaches forward, placing her hands on Ingrid’s chest for support, just below her breasts, and smirks down at her.

  
  


“Do you like this, Ingrid? I saw how you were looking at me just a moment ago,” she purrs again, and she grinds her hips down onto Ingrid’s once, slowly. She lets out a soft, fluttering little groan, never once breaking eye contact with Ingrid. It’s the hottest thing Ingrid has heard in her entire life. Mercedes does it again, her hips slowly gyrating and applying pressure, and Ingrid tries to ignore the _unbearable_ heat and dampness she begins to feel as Mercedes groans a second time.

  
  


“Mercedes, I...I don’t-” Ingrid begins, before her friend slides her hands up just a tiny bit, laying her palms on Ingrid’s bust. She’s still fully clothed, but even considering that, the sensation absolutely floors her. The idea that _Mercedes_ is groping at her in such a way turns her on even more than the gesture itself. Mercie squeezes gently, and grinds down with her hips again. 

  
  


“Please, Ingrid, won’t you be a good girl for me?” Mercedes asks between gentle moans. “Won’t you let me make you happy?”

  
  


Ingrid feels her eyes begin to water. She shouldn’t; she _shouldn’t_ want this, and it’s so improper and uncouth and wrong, but she _does_ and she doesn’t think she can fight it anymore. Everything else in the world has fallen away, and the only thing in the world that matters is Mercedes, and this bed, and the roiling, ravenous _hunger_ within. “Please, Mercedes,” she sobs. “I want...I...I want-”

  
  


Mercie’s eyes go wide and she gasps, her face splitting into a lovely smile. “Yes, Ingrid? Tell me what you want!”

  
  


“I w-want…” she stammers, gathering her courage. “I want _you._ ”

  
  


And that’s it. That’s all it takes. The way Mercie’s face lights up when Ingrid says those words is enough to make her fall in love ten times over, and she looks up into her friend’s beautiful, sunbeam smile, and she suddenly feels a little more confident in her choice.

  
  


“Oh, Ingrid,” Mercedes says, and Ingrid can _hear_ the smile in her voice. “Oh, how wonderful!” She leans down, putting her hands out to either side of Ingrid and coming to rest on her forearms. Her hair frames her face not unlike a halo, and a couple of stray strands are tickling Ingrid’s face.

  
  


Mercedes kisses her again, and this time Ingrid doesn’t pull away. She lets herself enjoy it, albeit hesitantly, lets herself feel the fullness and the fire in it. She’s still not quite sure what to do with her hands, but she tries her best to kiss Mercedes back as well as she can. 

  
  


She knows she’s a little unpracticed, perhaps a little sloppy, but Mercedes doesn’t seem to mind. Mercie parts her lips a bit, sliding her tongue into Ingrid’s mouth and deepening the kiss. Ingrid’s eyes go wide with surprise at first, she’s never kissed anyone like _this_ before, but she melts under Mercedes’s ministrations within seconds. The heat, the taste, the passion with which Mercedes kisses her is something she knows she’ll never forget.

  
  


It’s actually Mercedes who breaks the kiss this time. She pulls back just a bit and looks Ingrid in the eyes. Ingrid looks back this time, never away, meeting her gaze, feeling as though she could do so for ages. She’s ethereally lovely, and while there is still unmistakable lust in those eyes, there’s kindness, and adoration, and warmth there, too.

  
  


Mercedes slowly, gently, and perhaps a little regretfully, slides off of Ingrid and onto the bed. She sits on it, her back against the wall, legs spread slightly apart, and pats her lap. “Come here, sweetie. Put your back to me. I want to show you something.”

  
  


Ingrid is skeptical, but she does as Mercedes asks, blushing at the way she addresses her. A little thrill shoots through her as she realizes Mercedes is about to...to touch her. She’s going to have sex, with her friend, with Mercedes, and she’s terrified.

  
  


She sits in the space between Mercedes’s legs, then scoots backward. Ingrid fidgets as she can feel the warmth of her friend on her back. She can feel Mercie’s body against her own, can feel her bust pressed firmly between her shoulders, can feel her thighs pressing gently against her own, and she knows that only a couple of layers of fabric separate her and Mercedes’s…

  
  


Well. Probably better not to think about that if she doesn’t want to faint.

  
  


“ _There_ ,” Mercedes breathes, and Ingrid can feel the other woman’s words against the curve of her ear, against her cheek, against her neck. The breath cascades across her skin like fog over a turbulent lake, and it’s almost enough to make Ingrid moan on its own. “Doesn’t that feel nice?” she asks, wrapping her arms around Ingrid and laying her chin on her captive’s shoulder.

  
  


Ingrid doesn’t trust herself to speak without her voice cracking, so she nods and makes a small affirmative noise. Mercedes giggles at her. “Ingrid! What’s come over you? Are you nervous?” Her voice is smooth and effortlessly erotic. At least, Ingrid _thinks_ it is, but she could be projecting. “You usually don’t have any trouble talking. Are you _too_ nervous?”

  
  


“No!” Ingrid replies, perhaps a little too quickly, and Mercedes giggles again.

  
  


“Good girl. Now, since I’m _so_ proud of you for being so brave and honest with me, how should I reward you? The Goddess’s teachings _do_ say we should reward good deeds whenever we can.” Mercedes leans up and nibbles on Ingrid’s ear, and this time, Ingrid _does_ moan. 

  
  


“My my, so sensitive!” Mercie remarks as she slides her left hand up to begin flicking open the buttons on Ingrid’s nightshirt with ease. Ingrid watches her hands intently. “Tell me,” she says, popping the first one open. “How should I reward you?” She undoes the second. “Would you like me to touch you?” She teases open the third and fourth.

  
  


“Yes, yes _please,_ Mercie,” Ingrid begs, squirming as her torso is exposed little by little. It’s torture, and she suspects Mercedes knows it. 

  
  


While her left hand continues down Ingrid’s shirt, Mercedes’s right slides up to Ingrid’s neck. She drags her nails across the sensitive skin again, up and down, purring as she does. “You’re so beautiful, my darling Ingrid. I would love nothing more than to touch you. I’ve dreamed for _years_ , of the day you would let me.”

  
  


“Y-you have?” Ingrid replies, her surprise at the declaration cutting through her preoccupation with Mercedes’s hands. “You’ve...thought about me like this? For a while?”

  
  


Mercedes doesn’t answer right away, she finishes undoing Ingrid’s shirt and pulls it off over one arm, then over the other, and tosses the garment aside. It leaves Ingrid nude from the waist up, and as her arms fly up to cover herself out of reflex, Mercedes catches her wrists. It’s _shocking_ how fast she moves, her hands snapping out immediately and with perfect accuracy. “Of course I have, Ingrid. I just hadn’t had the chance to do anything about it! Now, will you put those hands down?”

  
  


As Mercedes releases her wrists, she drops her hands to her sides. They land, completely accidentally, on Mercie’s thighs. The older woman laughs. “I suppose that’s one place you can put them.” She drops her own to cover Ingrid’s, palm-to-top. “If you behave for me, I’ll let you put them anywhere you want. Would you like that?” she asks, her voice going low and suggestive, using her hands to slide Ingrid’s back, further up her legs. Ingrid’s fingers are pressing against the softness of Mercedes’s plush upper thighs, and she can feel the heat of them through the fabric of Mercedes’s tights.

  
  


Ingrid swallows hard.

  
  


“Yes, I...I think I would like that very much, Mercedes,” she says, and that earns her another giggle from her partner. 

  
  


“You always sound so formal, Ingrid, relax!” Mercedes insists, pecking her on the cheek. She moves her hands up off of Ingrid’s, putting them instead on her newly bare torso, just above her hips. They slide around forward to lay on her stomach, then up beyond that, her fingertips each drawing their own distinctly noticeable line. Ingrid’s breath catches as Mercedes moves across her body so very _achingly_ slowly. It tickles a little, but it also just feels...nice. It gives her goosebumps, makes her shudder. 

  
  


She yelps aloud when Mercedes reaches her chest and cups her breasts in her hands, squeezing gently. “Oh, Ingrid, did I surprise you?” she asks, her voice sugar-sweet. She brushes her thumbs over Ingrid’s nipples, and Ingrid has to bite her lip to keep from whimpering. “You’re so cute, Ingrid, oh, I _adore_ those noises you make. I wonder how I could get some more!”

  
  


Mercedes pinches Ingrid’s nipples and rolls them between her fingertips, while at the same time leaning forward to press her mouth to the side of Ingrid’s neck. She drags her lips up a few inches, her tongue sliding gently against Ingrid’s skin and leaving a cool trail where she passes. This time, Ingrid can’t hold back, and she squeezes Mercedes’s thighs tight as she cries out. “Mercedes, _goddess_!” she whines, her body stiffening. 

  
  


“There we go!” Mercie says, her voice barely audible yet still triumphant, her lips still half-pressed to Ingrid’s skin. “You’re so good for me, Ingrid. Such a sweet thing.” She laughs quietly, then adds, “I have been told that perhaps I overindulge in sweet things.”

  
  


As Mercedes pulls her hands away from her chest, it’s all Ingrid can do not to whine in protest at the sudden absence of warmth and stimulation. She’s about to demand to know what Mercedes plans to do next, but the question dies on her lips as the other woman reaches down and delicately plucks the tie holding her sleep-pants tight, undoing the knot and loosening them instantly. Ingrid tenses, and Mercedes feels it.

  
  


“Shh, it’s okay, Ingrid,” she cooes, and Ingrid actually relaxes a little, despite herself. Something about Mercedes’s voice is just...soothing. “I’m not going to hurt you; we just need to get these off!”

  
  


Even though Mercedes is sitting behind her and likely can’t actually _see_ the front of her body, Ingrid feels so vulnerable like this, so exposed, . She has to keep reminding herself that while she’s slowly becoming naked in her friend’s bedroom, she knows Mercedes, and she trusts her, and this is _okay._

  
  


Ingrid blinks. This _is_ okay. She’s certainly nervous, but the initial shame she’d felt when she’d realized how attracted she had been to Mercedes has ebbed away almost entirely, and in its place is a deep seated need to make her friend and newfound lover proud of her.

  
  


While Ingrid’s mind races nearly as fast as her heart, Mercedes wastes no time in putting her hands on Ingrid’s hips and sliding down. Ingrid’s soft homespun trousers and her smallclothes both slide cleanly off her legs and fall to the floor. Her breath catches, and her legs snap together. She almost moves her hands to cover herself, too, but leaves them where they are. The allure of Mercedes’s legs is simply too much for even shame to defeat, it seems.

  
  


Mercedes sighs, a gentle but exasperated sound. “Ingrid, darling, if you do that, I can’t touch you properly! Didn’t you just tell me that you’d like it _very much_ if I did?” she chastises, and Ingrid bites her lip. Yes, she would in fact like that very much. So slowly, steadily, she lets Mercedes nudge her legs apart with one hand.

  
  


Her whole body is warm, and she’s sweating, and she’s feeling more than a little overwhelmed. She doesn’t think she’s been this turned on in her entire life, and while Mercedes’s gentle hand and gradual progression have been necessary, they’ve also left Ingrid a bit...frustrated.

  
  


She squirms in Mercedes’s embrace, and her friend giggles. “Patience, Ingrid. It is a virtue, after all.”

  
  


Ingrid takes a deep breath and tries to force herself to relax. She has to try a little bit harder once Mercedes puts her hands on her abdominal muscles and hums appreciatively. “The goddess truly crafted you by hand, Ingrid,” she says, and Ingrid gives her nothing but a little whine in return. “Every bit of you is so perfect!”

  
  


Mercedes’s hands slide down a little, painfully slowly, bit by bit, until Ingrid can feel her fingers glide across the short hairs above her sex. She gasps and presses herself just a little tighter against Mercie, recoiling from the touch but quickly being reminded that there’s nowhere to go. Mercedes, ever unruffled, continues, one of her hands resting there while the other dives between Ingrid’s legs. She runs two fingers across Ingrid, and it’s _bliss_.

  
  


Ingrid groans aloud and shudders in Mercedes’s embrace, the sensation serving to both tease her further and provide her just a small semblance of relief. Her fingers go tight on Mercedes’s thighs, and her nails dig into her skin through her leggings. Mercedes merely purrs, lifting those two fingers up before Ingrid’s eyes, spreading them apart, and showing Ingrid the glistening slick that adorns them.

  
  


She leans in closer to Ingrid’s ear, nips at the lobe, and speaks in that low, breathy, devious way that makes Ingrid feel _so_ very weak. “Ingrid, my dear, you’re so wet for me already? Do I really arouse you so much?”

  
  


Ingrid feels dizzy. “I...well you just…” she begins, but she trails off as Mercedes cuts her off.

  
  


“Mouth open, darling,” she says, and Ingrid complies before she can stop herself. Mercedes pops her fingers between Ingrid’s lips and presses down on her tongue, drawing out another frustrated whine. “Would you clean them off for me?” she asks, and Ingrid obediently swirls her tongue around Mercedes’s digits. It’s strange, to taste herself like this, but the way Mercedes hums in approval makes the experience far less strange than arousing. 

  
  


She continues to suck on Mercie’s fingers as the older woman slides her free hand down between Ingrid’s legs to pick up where the other left off. Her fingers dance across the sensitive skin, and the pad of one brushes ever so gently across Ingrid’s clit, making her cry out softly. She’s burning alive, but Mercedes’s fingers are still in her mouth, acting as an effective, if accidental, gag. She tries to speak around them, but Mercedes shushes her softly.

  
  


“Patience, Ingrid, remember? You’ll get everything you want and then some, I promise,” Mercedes says, then adds, “You’re such a _good girl_ , Ingrid, I know you can be patient for me.”

  
  


Ingrid relaxes at the praise, groans plaintively, and tries her hardest to restrain her urges. She wants to make Mercedes proud, wants to show her how much she appreciates Mercedes doing this with her, and _for_ her, and _to_ her. Not to mention, Mercedes calling her a good girl sends a little thrill straight down her spine and between her legs. It gives her a rush, and she knows she wants nothing more than to hear those words again.

  
  


Mercedes teases a little more between her legs, her fingers darting in quick, smooth, deft circles around her entrance, occasionally brushing against her a little more firmly, touching her _just_ right to make her mewl around Mercie’s hand.

  
  


Just when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, when she feels like she’s going to explode, Mercedes plunges three fingers inside Ingrid without warning or fanfare. It’s a good thing Mercedes is keeping her somewhat muted, because the ragged, choked moan she gives in response would be enough to wake up anyone in the rooms adjoining this one. Mercedes shushes her again.

  
  


“Shh, Ingrid, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you,” Mercedes cooes, her voice gentle and reassuring. “Does that feel nice?” she asks, and Ingrid nods frantically. She tries to speak, but Mercedes doesn’t remove her fingers, and it comes out as a garbled mess of syllables. “You don’t need to say anything Ingrid, you’re doing _so_ wonderful.”

  
  


She begins to thrust her fingers in and out of Ingrid, and Ingrid feels every muscle in her body tense. It feels so wonderful, like a breath of fresh air, and she can’t help but grind her hips against Mercedes’s hand. She’s done this herself, of course, Ingrid might not have ever been _with_ anyone, but she isn’t too much of a prude to explore her own body. This, though, this is different. This is amazing.

  
  


As Mercedes moves, she presses the heel of her hand against Ingrid’s clit, applying pressure and friction at just the right time, in just the right spot, and it’s not long before she’s panting, moaning, and wiggling shamelessly in Mercie’s embrace.

  
  


Her vocalizations are short, staccato sounds, a song sung in time with Mercedes’s motions, and she presses her fingers even tighter into Mercedes’s skin. Ingrid has never been particularly religious, but when Mercedes hooks her fingers up inside her and she sees stars dance before her eyes, she’s praying for more with her whole heart.

  
  


She feels that warmth, that pressure building, until every touch and motion from Mercedes is enough to make her vocalise yet another desperate, yearning sound, and she shakes in the other woman’s arms as she feels her climax approach.

  
  


“Please,” she tries to say, and she repeats herself as Mercedes _finally_ pulls her fingers from her mouth. “Please, please Mercie, I can’t take any more of this, _please,_ ” she sobs. Mercedes leans forward, pressing her cheek to Ingrid’s, and Ingrid can feel her smiling, even if she can’t see it. She can feel the warmth radiating off of Mercedes’s face, and it’s more beautiful than the summer sun.

  
  


“Oh Ingrid, it’s certainly not my intent to make you suffer,” she whispers, and she _stops_ , and Ingrid lets out a short, anguished cry. “Be a dear and turn a bit, would you?”

  
  


Ingrid can’t obey fast enough. She turns herself in Mercedes’s lap so that they’re sitting perpendicular to each other. Mercedes reaches down with one surprisingly strong arm and lifts up Ingrid’s back, cradling her not entirely unlike a mother would hold a child, and holding her steady. 

  
  


Ingrid can see Mercedes’s face now, can see how flush she is, her lips a little parted, her eyes soft but filled with barely contained lust. Ingrid meets Mercie’s gaze, and her friend smiles, dipping her other hand back between Ingrid’s legs. She slides those fingers into Ingrid once more and begins to thrust, slowly, firmly, building in speed and intensity.

  
  


“I wanted to see your face,” Mercedes murmurs, clutching Ingrid close. Ingrid, determined not to be a slouch, throws her arms around Mercedes’s neck and leans in close, resting her head on the other woman’s bust. She doesn’t break eye contact the whole time. “I wanted to watch you come for me; is that okay, Ingrid?”

  
  


She nods quickly at Mercedes. As if she could _possibly_ say no. As if she would ever want to, considering all Mercedes has done for her today. Mercie could ask for her soul itself, and Ingrid doesn’t know that she could deny her. So she holds Mercedes tight, feels her chest heaving, hears her own cries mingled with the obscene noises Mercie’s hand is making as she fucks Ingrid to a climax, and doesn’t dare look away, even as her breath catches and her muscles tense.

  
  


“Come for me, Ingrid,” Mercedes says, and Ingrid has no choice but to acquiesce.

  
  


Her body explodes and her vision swims. She bucks her hips into Mercedes’s hand, crying out pleas to the goddess mingled with her lover’s name, until, to Ingrid, there is no longer a difference between the two. She pulls Mercedes even tighter, and Mercedes, bless her, leans down and kisses Ingrid with a fervor that is heated, passionate, and full.

  
  


Guttural groans flow from Ingrid’s mouth into Mercedes’s, their tongues mingle, and between the pleasure and the loss of breath from their kiss, Ingrid’s head begins to feel light. Mercedes works her expertly through her climax, her hand fluttering and pressing _just_ right to wring Ingrid completely, absolutely, utterly dry. After the sensations finally die down, after what feels like hours but probably only takes minutes, Ingrid goes limp in Mercedes’s arms. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t know if she _can_ , she merely tries to catch her breath.

  
  


Mercedes wipes her hand off on her skirts and reaches up to brush hair away from Ingrid’s sweat-slick forehead. “You did so wonderfully,” Mercedes says, stroking Ingrid’s cheek with her thumb. “You did such a lovely job, and you looked so pretty coming for me. Thank you so much.”

  
  


Ingrid didn’t think she could blush any harder, but she somehow manages. It’s embarrassing, hearing Mercedes talk about her that way, but it feels nice. Coming from anyone else, it would be patronizing, but everything Mercie does just feels so...sincere. 

  
  


She flicks her eyes away, though, still a little too embarrassed to meet Mercedes’s gaze directly for the moment. Nobody’s ever seen her so... _vulnerable_ before. It’s a new feeling, and one that Ingrid isn’t entirely sure she likes. “I want...to...uh…” she says, once she catches her breath. “Is there anything I can do for you? It doesn’t feel fair that I’m the only one who...you know…”

  
  


There’s silence for a moment, and Ingrid looks back up at Mercedes to see a surprisingly wicked smile on her face. It makes Ingrid shiver. “Well,” Mercedes says thoughtfully. “I did tell you that if you were good for me, you could touch me wherever you wanted to. Do you still have the energy though? Goodness, you look tired!”

  
  


“O-of course I do!” Ingrid insists. She doesn’t, not really, but she’s not going to let Mercedes go unsatisfied. She’s not selfish like that; certainly not. She sits up in Mercedes’s lap and, taking the initiative, kisses her again. 

  
  


Mercedes makes a surprised little noise as Ingrid does so, but she doesn’t push her away. She melts into the kiss without hesitation, in fact, and runs a hand through Ingrid’s hair, scratching her behind the ear. Ingrid sighs, and, shoving her uncertainty aside, pushes Mercedes back onto the bed.

  
  


She falls back, squeaking in surprise as she lands on the mattress, but Ingrid is following her down and presses another kiss to her lips, heady and insistent. Ingrid can feel the fire growing inside her, stoked by the need to be just as good as Mercedes at pleasing her partner. She’s always been competitive, after all.

  
  


Straddling Mercedes’s hips in much the same way Mercedes had done to her earlier, Ingrid presses one more kiss to her lips, then trails them down Mercedes’s neck, pausing to nibble at the sensitive skin there after every couple of pecks. She reaches down with both hands and works at the buttons on Mercedes’s top as she does, _desperately_ wanting to see Mercie without her clothes. Ingrid fumbles a couple of times, pulling away from Mercedes’s neck and watching what she’s doing. Her hands move gracelessly and make her lack of experience plain. She’s never undressed anyone before, and when Mercedes notices she’s struggling, she chuckles and gives Ingrid a hand. 

  
  


Mercedes’s top falls open, and Ingrid slides her hand around behind the woman’s back to unclasp her brassiere. While Ingrid had been dressed in her nightclothes, Mercedes had not, and Ingrid has to keep herself from staring once her partner is finally nude from the waist up.

  
  


It’s not like she’s never seen breasts before. Indeed, she’s seen them on herself, and on other women in the baths and while changing. Although the evening’s revelations have cast her previous uncomfortability in those situations in a new light, this is nothing new. Except…

  
  


She hasn’t ever seen _Mercedes_ like this. Additionally, critically, she’s never seen someone anywhere near nude in a context like _this_. Thus, despite her familiarity with the female anatomy, Ingrid stares. She takes in the soft, gentle curves of Mercedes’s torso as though they’ve been made just for her. She doesn’t even notice she’s doing it until Mercedes clears her throat. Ingrid snaps her eyes away and up to Mercie’s, realizing what she’s been doing. 

  
  


“Sorry!” Ingrid says, quickly, and Mercedes only laughs again.

  
  


“It’s okay, Ingrid, you can look all you like! I just didn’t want you to get too distracted. You seem very determined.”

  
  


Ingrid doesn’t reply; she can’t think of anything that won’t make her sound stupid, and elects to continue to kiss Mercedes instead. She leans down and picks up where she left off, kissing and nibbling her way down Mercedes’s collarbone, then down her chest, then up one breast. She cups it from the side in one hand, leans in, and swirls her tongue around the nipple. Then, for good measure, she grazes it with her teeth.

  
  


Mercedes moans, and reaches up to bury one hand in Ingrid’s hair, keeping her there. “Oh, Ingrid, yes. That feels very nice,” she purrs, arching her back up toward her lover. Ingrid feels a little twinge of pride at that, pleased that she can elicit such a reaction from Mercedes. She’s just sort of guessing, trying to do the things that felt nice when Mercedes did them to her, and stabbing blindly at the rest, but she’s glad it seems to be doing _something_.

  
  


She does it again, sucking and nibbling, and enjoying the feeling of Mercedes squirming below her, much as she herself had done in Mercedes’s embrace mere minutes before. Ingrid supposes that she can see why Mercedes liked it so much.

  
  


Once Mercedes is red-faced and panting, she nudges Ingrid downward with a small, subtle tug of her hair. “Ingrid, would you like to finish undressing me?” she suggests, and Ingrid nods. She most certainly would. 

  
  


Ingrid undoes Mercedes’s skirt with much more ease than her shirt, and it falls open on the bed before her, revealing Mercedes’s lower stomach and leaving her clad in only her tights and smallclothes. She leans down again, putting her hands on either side of Mercedes’s waist and kissing down her belly as well. Mercedes hums happily above her, continuing to thread her fingers through Ingrid’s hair. 

  
  


“This feels very nice, Ingrid. You’re so good at this!” Mercedes compliments her, and she tries very hard not to feel self conscious. She reminds herself that Mercedes is sincere, she’s not teasing her, Ingrid trembles just a little as she looks at the top of her partner’s tights. She feels her face burning as she does, but she presses forward, not wanting Mercedes to think she’s grown distracted again.

  
  


Ingrid hooks her fingers under the waistband of Mercedes’s tights and pulls them down her legs, marvelling at the exposed skin and running her hands over it reverently. As the garment comes off, she looks up at Mercedes for permission to go on, the other woman’s hand falling from her hair.

  
  


She sees the consent and desire in Mercedes’s eyes, but she sees more than that. She sees adoration on her face, she sees a need that goes beyond just sex. Ingrid, in that moment, sees Mercedes von Martritz, beautiful, kind, sweet Mercedes, desperate and vulnerable before and beneath her. Ingrid sees Mercedes trusting her enough to bare herself to Ingrid, heart and body both. And Ingrid feels a little stab in her chest as she falls completely, decisively, and wholly in love.

  
  


“Is something wrong, Ingrid?” Mercedes asks, her voice sounding suddenly very small. Ingrid blinks away tears that have formed without her noticing, and shakes her head.

  
  


“No, nothing,” Ingrid says, just a little too fast, and Mercedes smiles at her fondly. Ingrid inhales deeply, preparing herself, trying very hard not to be nervous or intimidated by her own ineptitude as she slides Mercedes’s smallclothes down her legs and off of her entirely. She lets them fall heedlessly to the side, never looking away from her partner’s face. 

  
  


Ingrid bites her lip, her gaze flicking back and forth between Mercedes’s face and the apex of her thighs. She freezes, unsure what to do. She knows, in theory, what happens next, but she’s never done it before, and has no idea where to begin. Mercedes seems to take notice.

  
  


“Ingrid, dear, would you like some help?” Mercedes asks, and Ingrid hesitates before answering. 

  
  


“Well, I...you know, I want to do for you what you did for me, kinda- I mean, I _really_ want to, but I’m not sure how exactly to, you know, go about it, and I-”

  
  


“Do you trust me?” her partner interrupts.

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“Do you trust me?” Mercedes repeats herself, and Ingrid doesn’t hesitate this time.

  
  


“Of course I do!” she insists, and it’s true. She does.

  
  


“Then lie down on your back. I have an idea,” Mercedes says, sliding aside and making room for Ingrid to do as asked. Ingrid follows her lead, of course, despite her uncertainty about what Mercie is planning.

  
  


As she lies back on the bed, Mercedes steps off the bed and stands beside Ingrid, cupping her jaw with one hand. She puts her thumb on Ingrid’s lips, and Ingrid kisses it without thinking. “Did you want to use your mouth on me, Ingrid?” Mercedes asks, and Ingrid nods, once. “Then stay right there.”

  
  


Mercedes moves back onto the bed, straddling Ingrid once more. This time, though, rather than over Ingrid’s hips, she’s positioned herself with her knees on either side of Ingrid’s head. She moves quickly enough that Ingrid doesn’t have time to be properly shocked, but her eyes widen as she sees Mercedes’s folds, visibly wet, less than a handspan from her face. She looks up to meet Mercie’s eyes, and her partner smiles down at her, a knowing look on her face.

  
  


“Are you certain?” she asks, wryly.

  
  


“Goddess. Yes,” Ingrid mumbles, and Mercedes slowly, carefully, gently lowers herself down onto Ingrid’s mouth.

  
  


Mercedes tastes _heavenly,_ that’s the first thing Ingrid notes. The second thing is that it’s a little hard to breathe, and she focuses on inhaling and exhaling through her nose, despite the fact that it’s being tickled by the little tuft of Mercedes’s hair there. 

  
  


Without really, truly knowing what she’s doing, Ingrid presses her mouth firmly against Mercedes and runs her tongue along the woman’s slit. Mercedes groans softly, and Ingrid swears she can feel it against her lips. Her thighs are pressing tight against the sides of Ingrid’s head, and she’s clearly being careful to keep her weight off Ingrid as much as she can, but there’s something incredibly arousing about feeling trapped there.

  
  


Ingrid considers that if she happens to die here, suffocated beneath Mercedes and between her legs, there would be few better ways to go.

  
  


As she continues her imprecise but enthusiastic ministrations, Mercedes grinds down against Ingrid’s face, and now Ingrid understands why Mercie had this idea. It lets Ingrid contribute, and be responsible for Mercedes’s pleasure, but still allows Mercedes to remain in control, to set the pace, and guide her along. A wonderful idea, Ingrid reflects, as she puts her hands on Mercedes’s thighs to help her hold steady.

  
  


Feeling just a little bit more bold, Ingrid slides her hands back, around to the curve of Mercedes’s backside, and squeezes _hard_. Mercedes’s eyes go wide and she gasps in surprise, then she smiles down at Ingrid. Ingrid smiles back, and despite her mouth’s current preoccupation, the expression reaches her eyes. “Well, I certainly did tell you that you could put your hands _anywhere_ , didn’t I?” Mercedes teases, placing her own hands on the bed for support. 

  
  


She slides her hands around to Mercedes’s hips, where she leaves them as the two of them begin to find a smooth, solid rhythm. Mercedes moves down and forward and back as much as she can, as Ingrid works on finding what does and doesn’t make Mercedes sing for her. Eventually, one of Mercedes’s hands finds its way into Ingrid’s hair again, and she closes her eyes, pulling lightly. Ingrid groans softly as well, finding that she quite likes the feeling.

  
  


Mercedes is panting, both from exertion and from her own mounting pleasure, and those pants turn into little whimpers and mewls as Ingrid manages to find Mercie’s clit with her tongue. She flicks against it once, twice, and again whenever the position is right. 

  
  


Earlier, it had been Ingrid coming apart for Mercedes, and Ingrid has to admit that the opposite occurring now certainly makes her feel powerful. She loves it, she could watch it all day; Mercedes above her, her face reflecting nothing but ecstasy, and knowing that it’s all because of _her_. _She’s_ doing this, _she’s_ having this effect on such an ethereally beautiful woman. It’s a high unlike any she’s ever experienced.

  
  


And so, when Mercedes’s moans reach a fever pitch, when Ingrid can feel her beginning to tremble more intensely, when her hand tightens in Ingrid’s hair, she tightens her grip on Mercedes and does her very, very best to push the other woman over that edge. She wants to give Mercedes the world, but failing that, she wants to give her a truly wonderful orgasm. Mercedes, for her part, breathes deeply, gasps, and cries out so quietly Ingrid can barely hear her. 

  
  


“Ingrid. Oh, Ingrid, _please_ don’t stop,” she sighs, and then her whole body seizes as she comes, her thighs tightening around Ingrid’s head, her hand doing the same in her hair. Ingrid feels her face suddenly become much, much wetter, and she honors Mercie’s request to continue without hesitation, still licking and sucking and holding her while the waves of pleasure wash through Mercedes’s body.

  
  


She was beautiful before, of course; she always has been, but watching Mercedes come is nothing short of magical. Her eyes are closed and her lips are parted, her mouth is moving wordlessly as though in prayer, and she shakes ever so slightly. Ingrid hopes desperately that she never loses the memory of this moment, not for as long as she lives.

  
  


In under a minute though, Mercedes opens her eyes, looking down at Ingrid with an exhausted, flushed, thoroughly sated, and sunny smile. She strokes Ingrid’s hair, down toward her face, then pats her cheek gently. “Well done, Ingrid. That was lovely, you did such a wonderful job.”

  
  


Mercedes rolls off of Ingrid and onto the bed, falling down beside her with a lazy ‘thump’ and Ingrid notes, with no small amount of pride, that Mercie’s legs are still shaking. Once the other woman catches her breath, she reaches out and wraps her arms around her, pulling her close. Ingrid slides in as guided, finding herself quickly trapped in Mercedes’s embrace, her head resting just under Mercie’s chin.

  
  


Humming, and continuing to stroke Ingrid’s hair with one hand, she reaches out for her blanket and casts it over the both of them. Ingrid wipes her mouth with her hand, wipes her hand on some discard article of clothing or another, then blinks in surprise. 

  
  


“Mercedes, shouldn’t I be...going back to my room so we can get some sleep? It’s pretty late, and we have classes and training tomorrow, you know.” She knows she sounds sheepish; her heart isn’t really in it.

  
  


After planting a kiss on the top of Ingrid’s head, Mercedes simply giggles. “Don’t be silly, I’m nowhere _near_ finished with you yet. We’re simply taking a little break.”

  
  


A little break? Mercedes wants to do _more_?

  
  


“Oh, well. If you insist, I guess.”

  
  


Mercedes pulls her closer, their bodies nearly flush. “Oh Ingrid, I absolutely _do_ ,” she sings. “After all, we have so much lost time to make up for!”

  
  


Ingrid sighs, resigned to her fate, and snuggles up a little closer to her friend - no, to her lover. She smiles, feeling as though she’s finally found something she hadn’t even known she’d been missing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed, and thanks to the fabulous [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells) for beta-reading and encouraging me onward. If you'd like to come be locked in a room with me, find me on twitter [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite)!


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